Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
“Single file,” shouts a thick voice in a deep foreign accent. “You will be directed left or right. Remain in your line.” His hot breath fans my ear when he adds, “You don’t want to know what will happen if you don’t follow the rules.”
I yank away when a calloused finger is dragged down my forearm. It isn’t the touch of a gentle, kind man. It is deprived and violent, as villainous as the twists that hit my stomach when I’m told to veer left, and it steers me toward an argument between two men.
Their accents are different, but they have no issue communicating their dislike of each other with solely their tones. The deeper of the two is calm and collected, but the younger one, if you can call him that since he sounds kind of ancient, is full of silent mocking. He is goading the first man about his inability to control his sons and how his children would never step out of line in such a way.
“Rico is free-spirited. He—”
“Embarrassed you,” interrupts the man with the same thick Italian accent as the owner of a pizzeria I frequent with my family. God, I hope I will be able to do that again one day. “He made a mockery of your name in front of our allies.” I didn’t realize you could hear a ticking jaw until now. “That is the last thing we need with the operative we’re endeavoring to undermine. Henry—”
“Will be handled.” The man with the dangerous tone lowers the volume of his voice a few octaves before adding, “As will Rico. By the time I am finished with him, he will not step out of line again.”
Scuffling feet marching across asphalt and whimpered sobs are the only things heard for the next couple of seconds before the first man asks, “When?”
“Tonight.” The abruptness of the second man’s reply exposes he wants their discussion over. “After the shipments are organized.” His Russian accent is more pronounced when he asks, “Even split?”
The Italian man hums in agreement. “With a ten-percent share offered to the Bobrovs as a courtesy for their help.”
“Brilliant. It will keep Henry’s focus on them.”
“Exactly!” The first man snickers before I’m shoved into a dark room with more murmured whispers and whimpers than I heard on the plane.
“Blaire?” I murmur while circling the gathering of women sweltering in a large steel box in humid and sticky conditions.
I’m not sure how much time has passed since we entered what feels like a shipping container, but several women have passed out, and many more have banged on the container’s walls with their fists, promising to do anything to be let out.
I’ve done nothing but focus on finding Blaire. I’m scared and frightened, but my father taught me that tears will get me nowhere. They only weaken me.
“Blaire?” I repeat.
“No,” replies the lady I’m butting shoulders with. Her hair is a similar shade to Blaire’s but shorter, so in my heart, I knew it wasn’t her. I am just so desperate I had to ask. “But she may be in the other container.”
My bewilderment is heard in my high tone. “There’s more than one container?”
I can only see her from the waist down since her reply dipped my chin, but I imagine her nodding when a woosh of air rustles between us. “There are two. I was in the other one until… until…” Her words shift into a sob. “I shouldn’t have saved myself. I’ve heard from the other women that Colum is a monster. That if you have the chance to pick, you should always go with the Russians.”
“Col? Russians?” I’m lost, and my head is spinning with more than the effects of being drugged twice in a short period.
I work through a hard swallow when she answers, “The trade. We’re being trafficked.”
Before shock can set in, much less fear that I may never see my family again, I ask, “Do you know if there is a girl called Blaire in the other container? She is around my height with blonde hair.”
“Is she the same age as you?” My brisk nod continues when she asks, “And a virgin?”
My nod isn’t as purposeful this time around. Don’t get me wrong, Blaire isn’t as adventurous as me. It’s just the direction of our conversation that has me swallowing razor blades. “We’re close, so she’d tell me if she’d done anything like that. I don’t think she’s gone past first base.”
I wish to God for my blindfold not to be so tight when the stranger replies, “Then she should be here. This is where all the virgins are.”
I should take a moment to consider her words with more diligence, to let them sink in with the concern they deserve, but instead, I continue my search, confident I need to find Blaire before contemplating anything.